Ema's pov -As William moves closer, my heart races with fear and anxiety. I try to muster the courage to go along with his plan, reminding myself that this is the only way to get what I want. But the thought of being intimate with him makes me feel sick to my stomach."Just relax," he says, a twisted smile playing on his lips. "Remember, you have to make it convincing."I close my eyes, trying to block out the reality of the situation. I tell myself that it's just acting, a means to an end. As he leans in to kiss me, I try to force myself to react as if I'm enjoying it. But every touch, every caress, feels like a violation.The charade continues, and I feel a sense of detachment as if I'm watching myself from afar. I try to focus on the end goal, on the possibility of finally being with Michael. But the guilt and shame weigh heavily on me, and I can't shake the feeling that I'm betraying him and myself.After what feels like an eternity, William pulls away, satisfied with the performa

Abigail's pov -The past ten days have been a blur of emotions and turmoil. Ever since the truth came crashing down upon me, revealing that Michael, the man I loved and married, was responsible for the loss of my parents, my world has been turned upside down. The pain is unbearable, and I've been avoiding him as much as possible, unable to face the one who shattered my world.The rooftop has become my sanctuary during these trying times. It's a place where I can escape the suffocating walls of our home and find a fleeting moment of solace. As I sit here now, with a steaming mug of coffee cradled in my hands and my laptop open before me, I feel a semblance of peace wash over me. The night sky stretches above, clear and star-studded, a canvas of serenity that contrasts with the chaos within me.I've always found comfort in writing, and tonight is no different. The words flow from my fingertips onto the screen, a form of therapy that helps me process the storm of emotions raging inside me

Jack's pov -The hospital corridor stretches before me, sterile and dimly lit, as I make my way toward the small haven of hope where my thoughts have been wandering. The weight of concern presses against my chest, the anticipation of news tugging at my every step. I pause for a moment outside the hospital room, taking a deep breath to steady my nerves before I dial the number that's become all too familiar.Chloe's voice is a welcomed melody on the other end, a balm to my restless soul. "Hello?" she answers, her voice carrying a hint of exhaustion that tugs at my heart."Hey, Chloe. It's Jack," I reply, my voice softening with genuine care. "I was just wondering how your father's doing."A sigh of relief seems to escape her lips. "Jack, thank you for asking. He's actually doing better. The doctors are saying they might be able to bring him home in a couple of days."I can't help but chuckle, my worries momentarily alleviated. "That's great to hear, Chloe. I'm really glad he's improving

William's pov -Ema returns back with a cup of coffee and a glass of water with a few snacks to eat but how to tell her all I need is her to be devoured and not this? Sighing I pass a small smile and sip on my coffee while she walks to her chair, sitting opposite of mine. We discussed our project and then she opened a file on her laptop to discuss it further but my eyes lingered more on her and the valley of her cleavage. Not to forget the marks I left on her were still faintly visible which made my cock twist in pain. Was I that much wild?I was definitely trying to be a saint but it was getting impossible for me with the passing of time. Especially after eye fucking her already, knowing it's a good time and chance, and also this time I don't why but I feel she is dying for the same. Let's start then, but not make it too obvious. I want to see how she reacts to my stunt."Ummm… can you just turn it here and stand beside me. Actually, I'm focusing out due to the distance and your lo

Abigail's pov -I am immersed in my writing, my thoughts entwined with the intricate threads of a new plot. It sounds promising, at least in the confines of my own mind. If I'm content with it, perhaps my readers will be too. My fingers tap rhythmically on the keyboard, each keystroke a dance of creativity as I attempt to weave words into a captivating tapestry.But despite my fervent efforts, I find myself facing an invisible barrier, a daunting blockade that hinders the flow of inspiration. Writer's block, they call it. The bane of every writer's existence. I bite the back of my pen, a habit I've developed over time as if trying to extract ideas from its plastic casing. It's frustrating, maddening even, to feel the words slipping through my fingers like sand.With a sigh, I remove my reading glasses and rub my temples. Maybe a short break will do me good. My gaze falls upon Michael's photo frame, a small island of comfort amidst the storm of my thoughts. I pick it up, gazing at his s